


Firestarter

by Amonae



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragonriders, Dragons, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Secrets, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 13:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11060304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amonae/pseuds/Amonae
Summary: “So it’s the fires, again? And we’re sure it’s not a rogue dragon?”“No, we’re not sure,” Steven says, sounding exasperated. “Since no one’s seen it, well, a beast that large wouldn’t exactly go unnoticed.”“We have any guesses?”“The usual; a wyvern, an overzealous clutch of fire lizards—Peter has his money on fire toads.”James wrinkles his nose. “Those don’t exist, Stevie.”





	Firestarter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shi_Toyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_Toyu/gifts).



> This work has been highly influenced by the Dragonriders of Pern works by Anne McCaffrey. As a child, I absolutely loved dragons, and loved the world of Holds and dragonriders that she had created. I hope a little bit of that adoration shows here. You do not need to have read these books to enjoy this fic. Thoughts of riders are in italics while thoughts of dragons are in [square brackets] and italics. One thing I have adapted, for the purposes of this story, is the Dragonriders of Pern lore about specific dragons and the gender/sexuality of their riders.
> 
> I must apologize, as this was a bit more rushed than I would usually like. I hope it is enjoyable, nonetheless. 
> 
> Thank you so much to [Sineala](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala) for going through this last-minute for me! Any remaining faults are mine and mine alone.
> 
> For [Shi_Toyu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_Toyu/pseuds/Shi_Toyu) as part of the 2017 WinterIron Spring Fling. I hope you enjoy.

Someone is shaking him awake. Still with a tangle of sleep about his head, James forces his eyes open a slit, just enough to make out the blurry layout of his quarters in the wee hours of the morn. The glows have long-since dimmed to a muted shine, though the sun has not yet risen. It’s only natural that his first response to the interruption is to roll over, tugging sheets and pillows as he does so, in an attempt to hide himself from the persistent prying.

It doesn’t seem to work, as the next thing he knows he’s being dumped unceremoniously from the warmth of his bedlinens onto the cold stone floor. James groans, cheek pressed into the gritty surface, as he turns his slitted gaze to the man hovering over him. “Thanks a lot, Stevie.”

“You’d best be thanking me,” Steven replies, crossing his arms over a broad chest and heaving a sigh through his nose. “We’re up.”

“Can’t one of the other Wings deal with it?” James complains, even as he shifts himself to a seated position. He shoves his hand beneath his bed, searching for his boots amongst the scrolls and dust.

Steven keeps talking as he fetches James’ jacket from the back of a chair, tossing it in his general direction. “No. Carol’s group has already been called out for Thread on the shorelines. Peter’s is on rest. They just got back in from the last of these attacks.”

James frowns, midway through jamming his feet into the heavy, fur-lined boots. “So it’s the fires, again? And we’re sure it’s not an unaffiliated dragon?”

“No, we’re not sure,” Steven says, sounding exasperated. “Since no one’s seen it, well, a beast that large wouldn’t exactly go unnoticed.”

While that’s true, the smattering of fires set across the landscape has been on the rise, and it was beginning to pose a problem for many of the smaller settlements, who didn’t have the means to recover from such an attack. The Weyrs, protected as they were already against flame and smoke, hadn’t been targeted. Which means these _were_ targeted, in some way, and that ruled out the usual culprit—Thread.

“We have any guesses?” James is already sliding on his trousers and pulling on the thick wherhide, following Steve from his quarters and through the dimly-lit halls. Moonlight pours in through the tiny window slits in the stone, casting shadows on the curving steps of the tower. They make their way with haste, a sense of urgency in each step. At this hour, the usual bustle of activity is gone, and the quiet is heavy, eerie.

“The usual; a wyvern, an overzealous clutch of fire lizards—Peter has his money on fire toads.”

James wrinkles his nose. “Those don’t exist, Stevie.”

“Tell that to Peter,” Steven replies, a fond smirk falling across his lips. Peter was just a Weyrbrat when they’d first met him, scrawny and always into trouble. He wasn’t even in the running as a solid candidate, expected not to Impress at all. However, Steven saw something the other riders didn’t—fierce loyalty, determination, and strength of character. Both Steven and James expected him to be as good a rider as any. What they hadn’t expected was for him to Impress the next Queen and take his role as leader of the Weyr’s third wing. He’d become something of a little brother to them both, close as family, thick as thieves.

They’re approaching the caverns now, a series of vast rooms in the cliffsides, large enough for even the biggest Queen to pass through unhindered. There is more activity here, riders hurrying to their mounts, at least a few of them looking as exhausted as James feels. He and Steven continue to the end of the cavern, where it blooms out into one large expanse, overlooking the sea. There are glowbaskets lit along the inner walls, filling the place with a soft glow.

Steven gives James’ shoulder a firm parting shake before he strides across the room, his voice filling the chamber as he calls out. “All right team. Let’s make sure we keep ourselves safe out there. Our priority is to control the fires. Worry about the cause of them as a secondary objective.”

There’s a resounding chorus of replies and James watches as Steven approaches his dragon, her golden hide glimmering in the soft light. She bows her head low, pressing her elegant snout forward for Steven’s touch. Mareth is as sweet as sugar, but only toward Steven. James still remembers the time she tried to nip at him for getting too close. He’d fallen on his ass for it, too, causing his own beast to chuckle low and deep.

Speaking of, the great brute butts his head against the back of James’ shoulder, a quiet concern echoing through their bond. He reaches a hand behind him and lays it flat against the curve of Wvreth’s jaw. “It’s fine. Just a bit of flame. You’re not scared, are ya? Ya great baby.”

The responding huff of air through the dragon’s nostrils is nearly enough to knock James’ feet out from under him, and he laughs. “Alright, alright. Enough messing around. Stevie’ll have our heads for it,” James chides, turning to press a quick and gentle rub to the ridge of Wvreth’s brow.

Wvreth is large, not nearly as large as Mareth, but bigger than a bronze should normally be. He rivals the size of Peter’s Queen, Gweneth, most days. James had expected to Impress on Hatching Day—his father had been a rider, as had his mother and grandfather—but he hadn’t expected more than a brown, at best. Certainly not a bronze, the right-wing to the Queen herself.

He glances across the large cavern to Steven, seeing him atop his glittering Queen, hands gentle against her hide as he murmurs to her. Despite the connection between rider and dragon, Steven has always preferred to speak aloud to Mareth. She seems to enjoy it too, if the tilt of her head is any indication. When Steven straightens, James hurries up the straps along the side of his rig, Wvreth wriggling just enough to make it difficult. Once he’s seated, James curses him quietly, missing the first half of what Steven had been shouting out to the room at large as he pulls on his gloves.

“Remember—be safe and come home. If this is something larger than we can handle, we re-group and find away to fight it, together,” Steve calls from atop Mareth, who looks all the Queen she is, head held high and eyes narrowed to survey her kingdom. She spreads her great wings large, stretching them, before moving to the edge of the cavern. The others follow suit, bodies glimmering with blues and greens and browns. And then, they take to the skies.

James has always loved flying. Whether it was the wind cascading around him on a descent or the sudden burst of cold from going _between_ , he loved it. And now, with the skies so full he’s surrounded by dragon and rider on every side, he feels calm. At home in the air.  
There’s a soft rumble beneath him, the only warning Wvreth will give him before they pass through to their destination. James lays his gloved hand below the horn of his rig, against the brightly shining hide.

_Let’s go. I’m ready._

The flicker _between_ is much as it is every time. A flash of cold and then a stillness, something unexplainable with human words. They rely on their dragons, here, to communicate. But Wvreth barely speaks, keeps his attention fixed on Mareth, on her golden sheen up ahead and the path she takes. The trust between them is implicit, they don’t need to communicate anymore to guide one another.

In the span of a blink, the landscape changes, and smoke fills James’ lungs. He pulls the collar of his jacket up, a frown crumpling his brows.

_Be careful, Wvreth._

A snort is all he gets in response before his dragon is banking hard to the right, swooping down to the center of the damage and nosing through the embers of a burnt-out building. There is nothing to be helped here, the damage already done. People are huddled in the chilly night air, their homes nothing more than shells of former lodgings. James can see Steven and Mareth, both bright beacons in a dark night, speaking with those who are finding themselves now homeless. He’s so focused on what they might be saying that he hardly notices Wvreth rumbling to himself beneath him.

_[Not of our kind. Something else. Something… strange.]_

James’ frown deepens. If their dragons don’t recognize the scent of it… He shakes his head, focusing his efforts on the clean-up instead of the questions.

 

~~~

 

They returned to the Weyr as a tangle of soot and grime, rumbles of complaints echoing through the Wing. Steven is even looking worn around the edges, not up for his usual boisterous shouts to keep the complaining to a minimum. He wants to find out what’s causing this, to put a stop to it. Ever since he was a child, Steven always had this sense of righteousness about him, a feeling like he had to set the world to peace. At first, it had irritated James, made him want to set the skinny Weyrbrat straight, let him know the world wasn’t fair or kind or just.

Instead, he wound up warming to Steven’s ideas. Though James still gives him grief when something seems particularly unattainable as a goal.

“I just want to sleep for a week,” Wanda complains as she passes, her dark hair a whorl of tangles about her pale complexion.

Clint lets out a chuckle. “Don’t get comfortable. You’ll jinx us.”

James watches as the rest of the team jostles and jibes at each other on their way from the cavern. He shares a bond with them, yes, but not the same camaraderie they have with each other. He’s always felt a bit detached from the others, a bit like an outsider.

Probably because he is.

He was sent to the Weyr as a young boy, to apprentice. He didn’t resent his family for sending him, it was standard practice. But until he’d met Steven, he didn’t quite feel as though he’d belonged. Even now, that feeling creeps up on him every now and then.

“What are you doing up there? Counting stars?” Steven is shouting from the cavern floor, looking up, up, up the expanse of Wvreth’s flank to where James still sat perched in the rig.

James gives his head a shake and sets about unclasping the buckles that hold him in place. “Very funny. I was waiting for your slow ass to get a move on.”

He catches Steven rolling his eyes, punches him in the arm for good measure once he’s on the ground. “Let’s go, before everyone else clears out the meal. Jerk.”

“Punk.”

 

~~~

 

James is starting to believe he will never get a good night’s rest.

He’s propped atop Wvreth’s back, eyes drooping every few moments. It’s barely been a full pass of the sun since they were last out. Their fire-starter is busy.

The cold snap of _between_ forces his eyes to open fully, though they still feel unfocused from the haze of slumber. He takes a moment to recall their location, to wonder how something could travel so far in such a short time. Whatever it was, it _had_ to have the ability to fly. Or some way to go _between_. It’s the only way to travel such a great distance in such a short time.

There’s a concerned rumble beneath him, a question without a word, and James smiles.

_I’m fine. Tired._

It doesn’t seem to provide much calm for Wvreth, but he doesn’t push for more. They burst into the skies in a glittering formation, the bright shine of firelight reflecting off Mareth’s golden form. Several buildings are still burning hot beneath them. Steven shouts orders, splits the group to cover the most ground, to provide the most aid.

James finds himself near the edge of the village, Wvreth dropping to the ground and sending a plume of ash rising into the air. There is a burned-out shell of a barn nearby, still sending stiff spirals of smoke into the sky. James frowns, searching the area for any active flames or those who may need help. He finds nothing.

_Why did you land us here?_

If James didn’t know better, he would swear that Wvreth just rolled his eyes. Instead of responding, the dragon sweeps his tail through the dirt and grime, lifting a new cloud of debris into the surrounding air. James is moments from a coughing fit when he hears it.

Something is _hissing_ at them.

Though it’s not the type of sound that a reptilian creature would make—it’s too light, too trilling—James finds himself giving pause.

Wvreth moves before he can, stepping forward and nosing at the tangle of charred bricks that used to be the barn. The hissing gets louder, becomes a different sort of noise. Almost a squawk.

“Hey, stop that, you great brute,” James chides, stepping forward and laying his palm against the ridges of Wvreth’s crest. He’s frowning, his attention on his dragon—covered in filth—so he doesn’t notice, not at first.

There’s another burst of sound, a loud hiss followed by a chattering, like he’s heard from agitated fire lizards. But the grimy creature among the collapsed beams isn’t anything like a fire lizard.

“Shards,” James breathes, his brows raising at the sight. Bright plumage in hues of red and gold sweep from collarbone to wingtip, the downy feathers on its chest raised in warning. Powerful legs ending in viciously sharp talons are coiled beneath, preparing for a quick escape, should the opportunity present itself. But James can’t bring himself to spare more than fleeting glances away from the creature’s face, so like his own, but with startling differences—pupils little more than slits in the moonlight, set in bright, yellow irises; mouth filled with a series of pointed teeth, thin and sharp like needles; and yet, there is something very human among all of that.

_Fear._

“Calm yourself. We aren’t here to hurt you,” James whispers, holding his hands up in a way that he hopes makes him appear placating. By the way the creature jabbers at him and shifts away, he isn’t sure he’s making his point clear.

_[He stinks.]_

_Of course he does. He’s scared. Don’t be a–_

_[Like blood. Bleeding. Still.]_

That causes him to stop, take pause, and re-assess the situation before them. Though the creature seems agitated and fearful, it hasn’t taken a single opportunity to try and get away. That’s when James spots the patch of secondaries, high on the ulna, stained a darker red than those surrounding them. “You’re hurt,” he says quietly, crouching low and trying to meet the creature’s wild gaze. “Let me help you.”

He doesn’t know if his words are getting through, but there’s a flash of understanding before the primaries start to droop, losing some of the tension that had been coiled there. Wvreth rumbles behind them and the feathers all stand to attention once more.

_[The others are coming.]_

James curses, glancing to the skies and catching a glimpse of gold among the stars. He doesn’t have much time. “Look,” he starts, turning back to the winged creature. “You’re going to have to trust me, at least for a minute. I will find somewhere safe for you, but I need to get you back home first. It’s far from here, we have to go _between_. It will be cold, but you will be safe. Do you understand?”

He feels like his words are just tumbling forth in a pile, one after the other, too fast for even a native speaker to understand. But there’s a nod, and that’s all James needs for assent. He moves into action, scrambling up the rigging on Wvreth’s back and pulling a series of blankets from the pouches. James returns, holding them out to the creature, who is eyeing him warily. “I’m going to wrap you in these, cover you, and you’ll have to stay down in the rig. You can’t move.”

Another short nod answers his request and the creature extends the uninjured wing to him, the tip of the phalanx curling out into a set of human-like fingers.

“Oh,” James starts as the blankets are tugged from his grasp and the creature begins to clumsily wind them about itself. “You have hands.”

He earns a narrowed look, that could almost be deemed as incredulous, before he hears the sound of wingbeats just a few hundred yards away. “Come on.”

In a flurry of movement, and with a few protesting chirrups, James manages to wrap the creature well enough and has it secured at the back of his rigging. He sits stiffly, moved forward to an awkward angle by his unexpected burden. Wvreth shifts his own weight to better hide their illicit stowaway as Steven dismounts and approaches.

_Thank you._

“Find anything?” Steven calls out from the ground, his cheeks and hair already smeared with soot and dirt. He looks tired.

James pauses, feeling guilty about the creature he is sure at the center of all this, but he licks his lips and answers with a clear voice. “No, nothing. Just about to head back your way.”

“We didn’t find anything either,” Steven replies, sounding dismayed. “We’ll head back. Re-group when everyone’s had a bit of a rest and a good meal.”

James nods, feeling Wvreth’s powerful muscles bunch beneath him as they lift into the skies. There are a few riders about, but none nearby, so James feels safe to mutter, “it will be very cold. But only for a small while. Please stay still.”

He doesn’t hear a reply. That’s likely for the best, as the other dragons are filling the skies, flashing in a moment of brilliant light as they go _between_. James waves to Steven to catch his attention lifting his hand in the air. James points to himself before lifting the same hand in a fist, at about shoulder height and rotating his arm in a tight circle. Steven flashes back a quick sign of his own—index finger and thumb connected in a circle, other three fingers upright—before he and Mareth vanish from the night air.

James takes a breath, counting a few beats before he urges Wvreth onward. James barely notices the travel _between_ , his mind too occupied by the warmth pressed against his lower back. He hoped that the creature isn’t too cold, will be all right on the other side. They didn’t have the time to worry about it.

Once they’ve reappeared in the blackened sky by the Weyr, James encourages Wvreth to take to the eastern shoreline, away from the caverns where the dragons and riders are housed. Instead, they creep along until they arrive at a smaller series of caves, which used to be put to use with fire lizard clutches, when the Queens became particularly protective. Now, they were dusty and filled with sand, the interior of the rock lined with tiny claw marks and echoes of flame.

With some coaxing, Wvreth settles into the sand and rock on the shore, a disgruntled huff leaving his snout.

_I know. Sorry. Only for a moment._

James lifts the bundle from the rig and with some careful maneuvering, manages to get them both safely on the ground at the front of the largest cavern. He sets the creature down, the blankets still. James frowns. “You can come out now. No one is around.”

That seems to do the trick, as the covers begin to shift and squirm. An irate screech has James hurrying to aid the release of the large wings, which had become tangled among the wool. “Calm down before you hurt yourself more,” James hisses, doing his best to avoid the sharp claws and talons as he tugs at the blankets.

When he has finally freed the thing, it glowers at him. The effect is made much less convincing by the mussed plume of dark hair on his head. James laughs, which earns him another glare. This only makes him laugh harder, in turn.

The feathers surrounding the creature’s collarbone ruffle and raise. It stands, kicking off the remnants of the blankets from its talons before stalking into the dark recesses of the cavern.

“Aw, come on,” James calls out, finally getting himself under control. “I’m sorry!” he tries as he sees the last of red and gold hues disappear into the darkness.

James sighs. “I’ll bring you something to eat tomorrow. Try not to draw attention to yourself.”

From years of dealing with Steven’s stubbornness, James knows a lost cause when he sees one. With a shake of his head, he turns to Wvreth, who is glowering at the sand as though it has personally wronged him. James chuckles.

“Come on, you great lug. I promise I'll clean you up and you'll be shiny and new again in no time.”

Wvreth snorts but maintains a civilized level of squirming as James climbs back into the rig. They take to the skies and James can't help but feel a seed of worry, low in his belly.

 

~~~

 

“Where have you been?” Steven doesn't even let him take a seat at the long table before hammering him with inquiries.

James ignores him, taking three large bites from a sweet roll before answering, his mouth still full. “Took a route along the shoreline. Wvreth decided to set down in the sand and then we had to clean him up. You know how he is about grit.”

Steven hums an affirmative, but it’s obvious he isn’t buying it. He knows as well as half the other riders that Wvreth wouldn’t set down in the sand without some coaxing.

“Did any of the others find something?” James asks, trying for conversational. He needs to know, though. Needs to know if anyone else saw the strange feathered creature among the soot and debris.

Steven shakes his head. “No. Nothing. I’m beginning to think it might be fire toads after all.”

With a snort, James takes the lighthearted jest as an excuse to clear the air. “Maybe it is. But they’d have to be _teleporting_ fire toads.”

“Right. Teleporting fire toads.”

The pair breaks into laughter, the few other members of the hall glancing their way. Even though this is good, this light banter, James feels the twist of guilt in his gut.

He’s never lied to Steven before.

He never thought he’d need to.

 

~~~

 

“Hey! I’m back! I brought food and some bandages for that wing,” James calls out, his muscles already aching from the climb down to the cavern. Wvreth had been much less accommodating that morning, forcing them to land above the sandy shores, rather than on them. “Come on out! I don’t bite!”

James frowns as he enters the mouth of the large cavern he’d left the creature in the night before. _Him_ , he reminds himself. Wvreth had said the thing was male.

_[He’s scared.]_

That doesn’t make sense. Sure, James might have looked threatening in the dark of night with his thick armored clothing and the sight of a dragon at his back—but now he was wearing a simple cream-colored tunic, some loose pants, and his most well-worn boots. He couldn’t look threatening if he tried.

With a sigh, he deposits the small satchel of food and the wrappings he’d managed to nick from the healers’ on the floor of the cavern. He takes two steps back, and waits.

It doesn’t take long for his eyes to make out movement from the back of the darkened cave. Slowly, the creature steps forward, taking short, cautious steps on those taloned legs of his. He crouches, keeping his eyes on James the whole time, and draws the bag toward him with his good arm.

James huffs. “You’re welcome.”

There’s a moment of pause, where neither of them move, and then, “...thank you.”

James is fairly certain his brows shoot so far up his forehead that they must be buried somewhere in his hairline by now. “You can _talk_?” He hadn’t expected as much, what with all the hissing and chittering and squawking.

The creature, for his part, seems uncomfortable. His eyes dart off to look somewhere, anywhere, else. “Yes.”

“What are you?” James babbles out before he can stop himself, clamping his mouth shut nearly as soon as he’s said it. He’d looked through books back at the Weyr, but everything was inconclusive. There were a number of things the creature _could_ be, but without more information, he couldn’t be sure.

There’s a wrinkle of the creature’s nose, and James is certain he can hear a soft ‘rude,’ before he speaks. “A… phoenix.”

_A phoenix…_

James can feel Wvreth’s surprise shudder through their bond before settling back into the calm he’d been exuding before. If even his dragon seemed surprised, a phoenix must be a rare thing.

Phoenix. Fire bird. James glances at the red and gold of the phoenix’s plumage and frowns. “Were you… starting all of those fires?”

To his surprise, the phoenix actually flushed, his tanned cheeks gaining a reddish hue before his gaze averts elsewhere. “I didn’t…” he pauses, taking a moment to breathe, though his feathers puff further with the effort, “...mean to.”

“You didn’t…?” James continues to frown, watching the phoenix shift uncomfortably under his gaze. With a shake of his head, James seats himself on the smooth ground and tries for a smile. He’s not sure it works. “Let’s start at the beginning. I’m James.”

“...Anthony,” the phoenix responds, looking affronted.

While he’s not expecting to make any progress, James is surprised to find that once he re-approaches the conversation from another angle, and makes himself look like less of a threat, Anthony seems to open up. Not much, but enough for James to see that Anthony had caused some, but not _all_ of the fires.

“So, let me get this straight, you only burn hot enough to light fires every few months?” James reaches for another roll, which Anthony promptly snatches out of his grasp.

“Correct,” Anthony replies, licking the crumbs from his talons. “I’ve been burning hot for the past week, but before that, it was dormant.”

_So he can’t have been the cause of all that destruction for the past moon and a half…_

“Where is your… pet?”

James can hear Wvreth snort from the cliffs above, where he’s been lazing for hours now. “He’s not a pet,” James laughs, shaking his head when Anthony appears confused. “A dragon and their rider… They’re connected. They Impress on us when they’re fresh from the shell, and we care for them until they’re big enough to care for themselves.”

“So your offspring?” Anthony offers, missing the way that sets a bout of chuckles shaking through James’ frame.

“No, no. Not that, either. It’s hard to put to words, I suppose. What about you?” James doesn’t miss the way Anthony flinches back. “Someone has to be waiting for you out there.”

Anthony’s whole demeanor changes, collapsing in on himself, his wings pulling close like a shield. “We are… solitary. By nature.”

“Oh.” James isn’t sure what else he can say, already feeling like a complete jerk. “Are you going to let me wrap that wing yet?”

The quick change of topic seems to do the trick, as minutes later Anthony is begrudgingly allowing James to bandage the injured wing. Though James takes great care with the task, Anthony still takes every opportunity to hiss at him.

“There, all done,” James says as he stands, watching Anthony flex and shift the wing experimentally. “Try to keep it still, when you can. It’ll heal faster.” He’s halfway to sweeping the dirt from his trousers when he notices Anthony’s gaze still hard-fixed to him. “Yeah?”

“Don’t tell anyone. That I’m here. Don’t tell.”

James furrows his brows. Anthony is looking at him with that same nervous, and fearful, energy that he’d had earlier that day. Now, they’d talked nearly til sunset, and James thought they were past this. “Of course I’m not going to tell anyone. I’ll be back when I can. You should have enough food for a few days, provided you don’t gorge yourself.”

There’s a soft huff and Anthony looks away, the plumage around his throat lifting slightly in agitation. He doesn’t say anything more before retreating to the rear of the cavern and James chuckles to himself as he starts the climb back to his mount.

 

~~~

 

Every few days, James returns to the caverns. It’s not odd for a rider to go out on watch, but Steven knows James is keeping something from him. James can tell. He pushes it aside in favor of returning to Anthony with stories and supplies. Oftentimes, if Anthony is not present himself, small trinkets will be littering the entrance to the caverns instead. Bright shells from the shoreline, bits of colored twine and gleaming seaglass, sketches in the sand of new rigs for the dragons.

They share tales and break bread, James staying many times much later than he should. He finds himself able to talk to Anthony in an easy way he hasn’t shared with anyone since Steven. And even then, there were things that James didn’t feel comfortable discussing with Steven. But Anthony would listen intently, his eyes glimmering with intrigue and curiosity, waiting patiently until James finishes speaking before butting in with a solution or rebuttal.

It’s a sort of comfort that James didn’t know he was missing.

James is returning to the Weyr, late one evening—he’d lost track of time, and neither Anthony nor Wvreth felt the need to bring it up—when he finds Steven awaiting him in his quarters. The fire has been lit, but is nearly down to the coals again. Steven has been here for quite some time.

“Stevie?” James asks, trying for confusion and nonchalance.

“Where have you been, James?” It’s a question, but only just. Steven’s gaze bares no room for excuses.

James feels the knot in his gut coil. “Out for a walk.”

“With Wvreth?”

James curses. He should have known that wouldn’t be overlooked by Mareth _or_ Steven. “I…”

“Look, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But don’t expect me to back you up on this if I don’t have the whole story.” Steven’s arms are crossed, his features expressing his displeasure with the situation.

James doesn’t say anything. Can’t say anything. They stay silent, locked in a stalemate, until Steven stands and leaves the room. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

_Me too..._

 

~~~

 

When James returns to the cliffs a few days after his conversation with Steven, he’s still feeling open and raw. He hasn’t slept well since that night, too worried about Steven finding out. Or worse, about telling him and losing both Anthony _and_ Steven because of his lies. He’s still wrapped up in his own head when he enters the cavern. An angry screech draws him quickly from his melancholy thoughts.

“Watch where you’re stepping!” Anthony is rushing over, sweeping up the series of small shells that had been underfoot. “You great oaf, you could have crushed them…”

James clenches his hands at his sides. “Maybe you shouldn’t leave things littered about like that.”

Anthony’s gaze is just as enraged when he turns it upward. “Maybe you should watch where you are stepping.”

“I shouldn’t have to!” James shouts, pulling the satchel of supplies from his back and tossing it unceremoniously to the ground. “I’m the one risking my neck coming out here and keeping you hidden from everyone! Why should I have to tip-toe around you too?” He’s raising his voice, he knows he is, but he doesn’t know by how much until Anthony recoils back from him, the little shells still clutched in his thin fingers.

James hisses an angry sigh through his teeth. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you. It’s…”

“You should go,” Anthony quips, his voice hard and flat. “You should… Thank you, for the food. I, um, you should go.”

There’s something that James can’t parse in his tone. At this point, he’s not even sure he has the energy to try.

“Right.” He leaves the satchel. They won’t notice just one missing back at the Weyr, and if they do, he can just claim to have misplaced it. It’s fine.

Everything is fine.

Except when James returns to the caverns nearly a week later, after he lets his anger simmer down, Anthony is not there. This in itself would not seem odd, if it weren’t for the distinct lack of everything else that normally spread across the cavern. There were no tiny shells filled with an opalescent glow, no braided cords of seagrass.

James leaves, and knows that Anthony has gone. Perhaps the wing had healed and the phoenix had decided that leaving without a goodbye would be appropriate, given their last conversation. Nonetheless, James feels the ache of his absence keenly. He stops returning to the caverns after a few weeks, knowing a futile attempt when he sees one. There are only so many times he can be greeted only by the screeching trill of sea birds instead of the indignant squawk of a different kind.

Steven knows something is troubling him, but he doesn’t push the issue. And for that, James is grateful. He knows it is only a matter of time before he speaks to Steven about it, though for now, he feels it is still not his secret to share.

The fires return, just as vicious and widespread as before. James worries that this is how he will reunite with Anthony, worries that he will speak with him just once more before the Weyr considers him too dangerous to exist. Too out of control.

The fact that James may not get a say in any of the decisions cuts him straight through to the core.

But they don’t find Anthony. Instead, they find a small group of wyverns, torching a farm for the opportunity to hunt the fleeing sheep. It’s a relief, as it shifts the blame to a group of pests instead of to the bright plumage of a phoenix. But James knows it means that Anthony may truly have left. For good.

They get no more reports of fires.

James feels the last wisp of hope, just barely out of reach. He’s not coming back.

 

~~~

 

He’s nearly through his fourth—or is it his fifth?—flagon of ale when he feels the surface of the table quake. James lifts his gaze from the tangled knot he’d been examining to find Steven’s angry blue eyes narrowed at him.

“Hello?” James offers, his voice coming out with a confused lilt.

“Don’t you ‘hello’ me,” Steve growls, taking a seat across from him. “We’re going to talk. I’ve had enough of you moping about.”

“I haven’t been moping about…” James mutters petulantly.

Steven doesn’t seem impressed. “You have. So what was it? Was it a lass?”

James furrows his brows, trying to puzzle through what Steven was grasping at. “What?”

“Or a lad, whichever. When you were sneaking about, thinking none of us noticed.” From the look on Steven’s face, _everyone_ had noticed. “Where were you out to?”

James opens his mouth, closes it again, and feels the ache in his chest swell. He talks. He talks about finding Anthony, about hiding him away, and about the twisting curl of _something_ just beneath his ribs. By the time he’s finished talking, he can feel the raw edge of his voice.

For a long while, they’re both silent. Steven breaks the quiet first.

“Did you tell him?” he asks, voice calm and serene, eyes on James’ hunched form.

“I… no?” James offers, feeling unsure before he shakes his head and answers with more certainty. “No. Why should I have told him? So he could run off sooner?”

Steven lets out a sound somewhere between disgruntled fondness and exasperation. “You’re an idiot.”

“Excuse me?” James recoils, defensive.

“The little trinkets? The sketches in the sand? The _braided seagrass_ ?” Steven practically strangles the last few words in his effort to get them through clearly. “You didn’t think that maybe all of that was his way of _courting_ you?”

James freezes, feels his face heat up with a flush that could rival the worst of his windburn incidents. “I… no. He wasn’t…it wasn’t…” He wants to say ‘like that,’ but even he knows that there was something else between them, something easy and calm and good.

“Think it over,” Steven says, lifting himself from the bench with another shake of his head. He departs with only a final squeeze to James’ shoulder.

Even if he was right, even if Anthony _had_ been courting James…

What good did it do him _now_?

 

~~~

 

James starts going back to the caverns.

At first, it’s to assure himself that there really is no sign of Anthony, that he hasn’t been here and gone. There’s nothing, of course, so James finds other ways to keep himself busy. He twists together bits of seagrass and colored glass buffeted smooth and shells into an intricately woven ornament, hanging it at the mouth of the caverns where it catches the midday sun and creates a cascading shimmer within the dimly lit walls.

He makes another.

And another.

Until the mouth of the cavern is filled with swinging, glimmering hoops.

But still no Anthony.

James has grown so used to the past time, he finds himself at the cliffs more often than not. It calms him, to a degree. He’s distractedly mending a tear in one of the first ornaments when he sees it—a bright, coppery bit of metal tangled among the shells and glass. It hadn’t been there before, James was sure of it, but here it was as clear as the midday sun.

He doesn’t allow himself to think into it—it could be a number of things: a stray wind picking up debris and tangling into his designs, one of the kids coming down the shoreline and adding bits of their own to the collection.

They keep turning up.

A bit of woven cloth, dyed bright purple.

A strange chunk of driftwood that looks like a leaf.

A single, brilliant feather, drenched in crimson hues and dipped in gold.

Still, James doesn’t allow himself to hope, to let his mind run away from him. He convinces himself that even if Anthony did return, it wouldn’t mean things would go back as they were.

He’s talked down the likelihood of Anthony’s return so often that when he returns to the caverns to find them occupied, James can’t find his words.

“Hello, James.”

“Hello,” James rasps, staring wide-eyed at the creature in front of him. This is not the same, frightened creature he had helped all those months ago. This phoenix is confident, head held high and eyes calm. His plumage shines a beautiful crimson and gold, reflected in a million hues by the mottled pattern of diffused light. And beneath the lean frame, James can sense a _power_ , controlled and ferocious.

He feels a bit like prey.

“Do you know why I’ve returned?” Anthony asks, his head cocking to the side, a bird-like behavior that James hadn’t known he had missed.

James licks his lips, nervous. “No?”

There is a pause while Anthony examines him, eyes narrowed, before he approaches the entrance to the cavern with fluid grace. He reaches out a delicate hand, claws carefully nicking the edge of an ornament just enough to send it spiralling. The light in the cavern fluxes with the change, sending colorful shadows over the walls. Anthony is still facing away when he says, “are you courting me?”

James splutters, his face crimsoning until he realizes what it must look like. This whole cavern, the only place they had spoken, filled with light from trinkets and braided seagrass. He swallows around a hard lump of fear that finds itself caught in his throat. “And if I were?”

Anthony smiles, a look that strikes James as strange until he realizes the reasoning—he’s never really seen a smile from the phoenix before. James tries to control the flustered glow he feels rising to his cheeks.

“If you were, I would expect a lot more than this.”

James deflates, his hope and embarrassment giving way to dread.

“For starters, I would expect an apology,” Anthony says, the downy feathers on his chest bristling, though his features remain complacent.

“I’m sorry,” James breathes, feeling a weight falling from his chest, leaden and cumbersome. “I know it’s not enough to say it, but–”

“No,” Anthony answers, voice clipped and succinct. “It’s not enough.” The smile returns, soft and somewhat coy, as Anthony steps forward on delicate limbs. “But it’s a start.”

When they meet, their lips press together in a gentler kiss than James had expected, and he can’t help but feel a small, bright burst of hope bloom in his chest—renewed.


End file.
